


Hotel Ashburton

by PrincessElizabeth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: American Horror Story: Hotel AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessElizabeth/pseuds/PrincessElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitzsimmons American Horror Story: Hotel based Au.</p>
<p>When Leo Fitz walks in the doors of Hotel Ashburton, Richard Simmons instantly has an idea. This is the man he wants to carry out his crimes, Jemma Simmons, however, has another idea in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A History Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> I recently binge watched season 6 of AHS, and somehow this idea popped into my head. It's been mulling around in my brain for about 3 weeks now, and I finally decided I'm ready to turn this into a story. I am blaming this story on my lovely friend Madalayna, who gave me the encouragement needed for this to happen, not to mention some very appreciated plot help.

Hotel Ashburton was built in 1918, by one Richard Simmons. The man had been a friendly medical doctor back in his home, in Ashburton, with his wife, Lori, and two children, Oliver and Jemma. The Simmons family held an affluent and wealthy status in their native city, Richard a picture of old wealth, established over time in the familial line, was well regarded for having a seemingly perfect life, a beautiful woman at home, a handsome son, an infant daughter, and a fortune that would be enough to sustain their family, long after he himself was gone, and young Oliver and Jemma had started families of the own. Of course, the wealth would go to Oliver, naturally, as Jemma was expected to be marrying into another home, as affluent, or more so than her own. Richard had to leave the home on occasion, for his work. He would travel to the home of someone ill and in need of at home care, and tend to them there, for a sizable fee. It didn’t happen often that he was called away, but when he did, he was gone for a week or so, busy with his work to preserve the health of his clients.

When Jemma was 12, and Oliver was 14, Richard went away on a business trip leaving the family behind. Oliver was a rebellious boy, who did what he could to be a bit of a hassle. He would often get in trouble for what he did, but mostly by his father. So, he made it a bit of a game to do whatever he could when his father was away. It wouldn’t end well for him, but being an adventurous boy, he couldn’t care less. Oliver was killed while he was out and causing mischief one day. Someone wasn’t paying as much attention as they should have been, and had hit and killed Oliver. Richard was called home from work because of the death, because his wife Lori, had fallen into such a state of grief she could not take care of herself, nor their remaining child, one young Jemma. Jemma, whom had disapproved of her brother’s shenanigans, had still looked up to her brother, who was the only one in the family who embraced her more unladylike tendencies, like her desire to catch frogs in the pond not far from the manor, and bring them back to their home to study the creatures before sending them on their way. Time and time again, Jemma had showed up back at home with mud stains on her dress, which her brother would often lie and say he had pushed her into the mud, to cover up what Jemma had being doing. For all the problems he caused her, Jemma did love her brother, for all the things he did for her, to embrace the fact that she was not the perfect little lady that society expected from a girl her age from such an affluent home.

Shortly after Oliver died, Lori Simmons died as well, having slipped into a depression because of the loss of her son, despite her husband’s best efforts to console her, ensuring that they still had a child to raise, and they should do so in Oliver’s memory. Richard had taken his now 13 year old daughter, Jemma, out to attend an open house at a local finishing school that he was trying to talk her into being enthusiastic about, leaving Lori home alone for the first time since the death of their son. Lori took her own life, using the gun saved in the drawer of the nightstand, which was strictly used for protection of the family. 

Unable to handle the death, Richard abandoned his practice, falling into a deep grief, and psychosis that he had not showed signs of possessing in the past. The stress of the loss of his wife and his son tugged at his brain, distressing him to no end until he could no longer take it. He snapped and took Jemma and fled Ashburton, setting in Los Angeles and leaving their old life behind. His psychosis taking over, the undeniable urge to kill took over his life, to the point where he found himself unable to resist. Hotel Ashburton built as a 'murder castle'. He filled it with secret passages, doorways that led to nothing, hallways with no doors. The hotel was a death trap, complete with acid vats and chutes to the basement.None knew the full extent of the plans of the hotel, aside from himself and his daughter, to keep himself safe from persecution from the Los Angeles police department. It was impossible for one who didn't know the hotel could escape. It was impossible for them to do. So, as soon as the hotel was built, Richard began to fulfill his fantasies with his murders he so longed to commit.

Jemma Simmons was 13 when her father built the hotel. As soon as the hotel was finished, 14 year old Jemma began to work in the hotel as a chambermaid, all while she continued her studies. Her father had been kind enough to create a room which would serve as a lab to Jemma. The girl’s fascination with science had only grown as she did. Any and all her free time was spent in that lab, learning about the world and science in general through trial and error. When she was not in the lab, she was cleaning rooms, taking care of everything in the hotel. After all, her father wanted to attract people to the hotel, and she truly feared what would happen if there was no victims to be found in the hotel. Would he turn on her? While she cleaned the standard cleaning job of a hotel chambermaid, her biggest task, however, was cleaning up after her father. Her father's messes left bloodstains in the hotel that Jemma would kneel and scrub out for hours. She was as guilty as he was, because she covered up everything that he had done. She herself had never agreed with him, she never wanted to partake in the crimes, despite his encouragement. He had even offered her the bodies of his victims to study in her lab, as she wanted to learn more of human biology. She would never dissect them, but she was however, guilty of studying them after death. The bodies left more intact would be thoroughly studied by Jemma, and the rate and stages of decomposition noted. In her mind there was no reason to let these people die for no reason, their bodies could be put to good use, they could advance the scientific community. There was something to be said about the loyalty of a child to her father in the way Jemma dutifully cleaned up after her father, and even looked after the bodies herself.

In 1927, an 18 year old Jemma was working the front desk one night, as she often did while her father was preoccupied with his own..hobbies. Her attention was split between watching the door, and the fascinating book she had been given as a gift from her father. The riveting pages captured her attentions and refused to let them go as she ate up the words in the book, not noticing when a man came through the door. Richard Simmons was involved in things that he shouldn’t have, and had made enemies in the wrong places. He had borrowed money in the building of the hotel and had yet to pay it back, making the gangsters in the city angry with him for not returning their money. Wanting to leave an impression on the man, while living up to the reputation that had been given, a single gunman worked his way into front doors of the hotel, intent on leaving Richard a message. They were going to kill his daughter. Jemma Simmons was shot while she studied her book. The bullet was strategically shot, hitting her in the chest, tearing a physical hole in her heart. She was dead upon impact. 

Richard Simmons came back to the hotel that night to find his daughter dead at the front desk. 

However, the hotel was built on cursed ground. All who died in the hotel were bound to the hotel. Their ghosts were bound to the hotel, unable to leave. Some were stuck, reliving all the old pain and suffered they felt in the past. Some were intelligent, living on their lives as if they had never died. Jemma was one of those ghosts. Her father cried over her death, only to feel a hand on his shoulder and look up to see her, comforting him as clear as day. She appeared as if she had never died, or, rather, she would have, had it not been for the hole in her chest. You could see through the hole, the clean shot there. The reminder that this had been his fault bothered Richard, who did whatever he could to prevent seeing the hole. He gave Jemma new clothing to wear, which had luckily worked, but once he knew the hole was there, he couldn’t stop the guilt from welling in. He had killed his daughter. Not directly, but it was because of him, and her being there instead of with her mother, and brother, that was because of him too. 

The grief he felt pushed him to murder more frequently. In the past 9 years, he had confined his murders to those within the hotel, dumping the bodies into the basement acid vats where they would never be found. His grief pushed him into searching his victims elsewhere, and he began to plot a new string of murders, one that would complete his career, and would end with the death of himself. The 10 Commandment Killings. It seemed genius to him. 9 murders, one for each of the commandments, ending with his own suicide as the last. Each of his victims would be guilty of betraying one of the commands. It was his plan, and he wanted to carry it out as quickly as possible, to put an end to his life and murder career. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t work out that way. After his first batch of murders of the Ten Commandment killings, he found himself cornered. The police were onto him for the murder of those inside the hotel. Backed into a corner with nothing to do, the man panicked and locked himself in his secret office. The office was off of room 64, carefully tucked away behind the armoire in the room, where nobody would ever find him. With no options left for himself, Richard shot himself, leaving Jemma the instructions to throw his body down the chute to the acid vats. Jemma did as she was told, just like she always had done when he was concerned.

 

The two ghosts continued to run the hotel. Jemma working the same jobs she always had, dutiful chambermaid, so fascinated by science and the way the world worked. Her father continued his killing, using it to fill the void in his life which would eat away at him for eternity had he not done so. However, he was no unable to finish his golden killings, much to his dismay. Unable to leave the hotel, he himself couldn’t do it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t carry them out indirectly. He needed a vessel to carry out the crimes for him. He needed someone smart enough to be able not to get caught, but who had a weak point where he could get in and manipulate them. He spent years trying to find someone, without luck. However, all their luck changed when one Leopold Fitz walked in the doors of the Hotel Ashburton on one fateful day in 2015.


	2. Welcome to the hotel.

When Leo Fitz came into the Hotel Ashburton, Jemma was sitting quietly at the front desk, just like she did every evening. It was the same thing she had done every day for the past 97 years. The hotel had been busy in the past, the old fashioned hotel had it’s peak back in the past, but since the 70’s, the influx of people was declining. With the building of nice hotels, and new chains, the number of people spending evenings at the Hotel Ashburton had decreased. The majority of the people who came to visit were the ones showing up with another person, paying per hours or afternoons while they engaged in whatever they felt like in the rooms, leaving the mess for Jemma to clean up after. Most of them were engaging in some sort of infidelity, Jemma knew that. She had seen enough in her years working there to know the look of a person who was cheating on a spouse or a loved one. 

That seemed to be the beauty of old hotels, there was always something going on. There was so much life taking place inside the walls that the people there didn’t even notice the death all around them. They didn’t question the impossibly pale skin of Jemma’s arms, didn’t question the creaks and moans not caused by themselves. Life. It overpowered the death in such a way that it gave Jemma hope that things would all work out in the end. Life made her forget what she was for a moment. She often wondered what it would be like to be the one checking into the hotel room with a lover, she didn’t believe she would ever be unfaithful as most of them were, but the thought of being the one, so alive, deciding they needed someone enough to forgo the drive hope and instead heading to the nearest hotel. Life filled the hotel, but it faded away and died every time, just like real life. The lovers would leave, if they were lucky enough to get away from her father, and if they didn’t get away, they would die, spirits lingering in the hotel, devoid of the life they gave off when Jemma checked them in, watching them wander their way up to the hotel. The thrill of life seemed to addicting to Jemma, who had long since had her chances at such snuffed out. 

To imitate the life she so craved, Jemma tried to keep up with the times. She found fashion was one thing that was never constant. There was always some new thing that came up that everyone had to have. She found her standard hotel chambermaid dress quickly outdated, and did her best to keep up with the times. She didn’t want to look dead, didn’t want to feel dead, and if being modern was the best thing she could do, then she would go for it. Whenever she undressed in her own room, she would stand in front of the large mirror in the room, unbuttoning her shirt and glancing at the hole in her chest. Carefully, she would take her fingers and caress the healed injury, biting her lip while she did. She would pull her hand away and close her eyes, imagining it wasn’t there. That she was alive, just like she always had been before. She knew there was really no use to going ahead and imagining this, but she couldn’t keep her mind from the idea. How thrilling it would be again to feel the blood moving through her veins again, to be more than just the ghost that she was. 

She could never be what she wanted to be, and she had to remind herself of that, preventing her logical brain from wondering what it would be like to be alive in this time and age, wondering what the world looked like from outside the confines of the hotel.

Jemma looked down at the book on top of the counter in front of her, turning her head at an angle while she took in the words on the pages in front of her. She bought the book the last Halloween, taking full advantage of the day in which ghosts were able to leave where they were cursed to, table to walk around other people. Jemma would always save all the tips she had been given for that day, when she could buy enough books to fill her desire for something to do while she sat at the front desk, when everything was cleaned and she wanted to do anything that she could to keep herself occupied. The book today was the first novel in the Game of Thrones series. The book had caught her eye when she found it at the store. The first few pages seemed to be rather slow, until a few pages in, an exciting fight scene happened. It was entertaining, yes, but Jemma questioned the plausibility of what had happened. Her attention was drawn away from the book when she heard the squeak of the front door opening. Placing the piece of paper she was using as a bookmark back in the book and slamming it closed, offering her standard chipper smile to the young man who had walked into the room. He wasn’t the usual clients of the hotel, or at least, he didn’t appear to be. He was by himself, and he didn’t seem quite like the picky hipster couples who came to stay in the hotel. He carried a large bag in his hand, with a cross body laptop bag across chest, the black of the strap contrasting the bright colored button down shirt that he wore. Sliding the book out of the way, Jemma sat up straighter in her chair, trying to look as inviting as she could. 

“Hello, can I help you?” She asked, turning her head slightly to the side, her brown hair shifting to hang slightly to that side as well, moved by the shifting of her head. Even though she truly wished that nobody would come and stay at the hotel, to spare them the horror that her father would subject most of the guests to, she still managed to be as chipper and kind as possible. It was part of her personality, she supposed. 

“Uh yeah, I called in and made a reservation.” The young man explained, setting the large duffel bag he held with him on the floor beside him while he shifted how he was standing, relieved that he had set down the large duffel bag. “Should be under Fitz.” 

Nodding her head, Jemma flipped open the guestbook, finding the right page, using her finger while she guided her eyes down the page to the most recent entry. Sure enough, it was listed there. Leopold Fitz. When she dragged her eyes over the page, to where it should have listed what room he would be in, Jemma saw nothing. It was rather strange, as her father typically was very careful when it came to which guest had which room. Not wanting to make the man wait any longer than he needed to, Jemma decided she would give him any room key. Nearly all the rooms were open and available to be stayed in, it wouldn’t do any harm if she wrote the room down herself in the book.   
“Just a moment.” She said with a slight nod, turning her back to him as she picked herself up from the chair and turned to look at the wall of keys behind the front desk. Her eyes grazed over the keys hanging in the hooks. She avoided the key hanging for room 64. Or rather, she tried to, but something kept bringing her attention back to that one key. They never rented out that room, unless her father wanted that person. The room had once been his office, it had been the room in which he had killed himself. The room even had a hidden room in the back, behind the armoire. Inside the room was where he hung kept the trophies of his kills. Richard was a powerful spirit, that was true, but in that room, he was stronger. His ability to manipulate people was so much stronger in that room, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was because there was the trophy room there, or some other reason. It was his room, and he never wanted to rent it out, unless he saw potential in the people whom he chose to stay there. He must have seen something in Fitz, because he was insisting that he wanted this young man to be in that room. 

Richard wanted this man to be his successor. 

Inhaling deeply, she grabbed the key for room 64, and turned around to give it to him, her smile having fallen into something more somber. She set the key on the desk, grabbing a piece of paper that listed the numbers for the front desk and other places in the hotel, sliding it over to him.   
“I’ll show you to your room then, would you like me to take your bag for you? I’m afraid the bellhop recently quit, and we haven’t found a new one yet.” 

“No, that’s fine, I’ve got it.” The man insisted, Scottish accent thick from what Jemma assumed was being tired, it was fairly late after all. 

“Then right this way.” She insisted, heading towards the stairs that led up to the second floor of the hotel, where the rooms started. The foyer was grand and gilded, as was the trend in the 1920’s when it was built. The old fashioned splendor of the room hid the truth about the hotel and those who worked inside it. The staircase which boasted a large landing which overlooked the room was covered with a patterned carpet that offered a stiff scuffing sound when someone walked on it, which in turn echoed around the room, as one would expect from a dark and scary place such as that hotel. Jemma’s hands subconsciously stayed in a position which they would have held up the skirts of a long dress while she walked. The habit had been long ingrained, and had yet to dissolve after her death. Her father’s insistence on tradition caused Jemma to steer clear of the flapper trend which had become so popular in the 1920’s. She was never allowed to bob her hair, never allowed to wear a skirt that would show off any part of her leg. It had been a thrill when she finally began to, although, she felt rather exposed, and like quite a hussy when she finally did, but feeling a draft of air on her legs from the knees down, instead of keeping them under a hot skirt all day felt quite exhilarating. 

Reaching the right room, she unlocked the room with her key, pushing the door open and waiting for the young man to enter. As he did, she remained in the doorway for a moment, watching him carefully. Her father must have seen something in him, to want him to be his successor. She wasn’t sure what he saw. The man was rather scrawny, not too much so, but he was hardly the muscle clad man that she often imagined her father would chose. All in all, it really wasn’t her business what her father chose to do, but the more she thought about her father using this man as his successor, the more she grew opposed to the idea. It was right then and there that she had made a decision. 

“The front desk number is right on this paper here with the key, so please, feel free to call with any problems.” She insisted with a deceptive smile, her voice trembling slightly when she tried to speak and remain chipper around the man. “I really must be getting back to the desk now, have a nice night though.” 

Closing the door behind her she leaned up against the wall of the hallway for a moment, lingering outside the man’s door while she paused to think for a moment. She concluded that her father was wrong. This young man was not going to be his successor. Jemma was going to see to it that her father’s best attempts at manipulation were unsuccessful.


	3. Bloodstains and Budding Friendships

After making sure that the new guest was situated, Jemma wandered back down to the lobby, stopping at the front desk long enough to grab the phone from the base, stuffing it into the pocket of the cotton half apron she wore over her simple dress. She had to make sure that she had the phone, in case Fitz was to call down, but she also needed to have a word with her father. She doubted that he would give into her request, but asking him was worth a try. She at least wanted to know why he had chosen this young man as his successor. Her father had never been the most predictable of sorts, his psychosis feeding a spontaneity in his personality that Jemma could never manage to comprehend. His motive behind each killing was different, and most of them didn’t make much sense to her. Maybe it was because she, herself, was not unstable. She was unable to understand the motives, because they wouldn’t make sense to someone who wasn’t just as psychotic as her father was. Balling her hands into fists, holding onto the hems on the sleeves of the jumper she wore, to keep herself warm in the cold hotel, she marched her way upstairs she needed to have a word with her father, and she knew exactly where she could find him.

In the second floor hallway, there was a door that led to a room, which was completely empty. The white washed walls and floors matched, and looked far more modern than any of the other parts of the old hotel. The room seemed simple and empty, but it was so much more than that. In the past there had been many guests in the house who were of less than respectable character, more so than the people that would show up with their lovers. The white room had been a request by one such guest. Richard Ramirez, had been the one requesting that room. He had spent some time in the hotel at one point, and even had contributed to the spirits stuck in the hotel. The room was soundproof, and built specifically for killing. Jemma’s father had been all too enthusiastic to go ahead and build the room for him, in the hopes that he would take over the Ten Commandment killings. Much to his dismay, the man who would come to be known as the Night Stalker, refused to carry out Simmons’ killings for him. So, the room remained, even after Ramirez had left the hotel. Jemma’s father continued the use the room for his killings now. 

Inhaling deeply, Jemma barged her way into the room, finding her father exactly where she had expected him to be. The man was hunched over a body, his chest heaving from the effort he had gone through to stab the person who the body had once been. He held the knife in his hand, the serrated edge of the blade dripping blood onto the pristine white floor. Another thing for Jemma to clean, lovely.

“So, you think that boy is the one?” Jemma asked, placing her hands on her hips while she looked over at her head, head tipping slightly to the side. When the man turned around, blood splattered across his front, Jemma didn't bat an eyelash, all too familiar to the sight of her father post-kill. She had been doing this job, cleaning up after his murders since she was 14 years old, she was far too used to it now. Richard Simmons was a tall man, much taller than his short daughter. His brown hair was slicked back neatly, as was common during his time. His pale face wore a confident and charming smile, just like it always had, a mouthbrow moustache taking up the space directly above his upper lip. He was true to the typical comment about psychopaths. He was charming, and alluring. He was able to sweet talk his victims to their own demise time and time again. Dressed neatly, if not mildly outdated, he looked strange covered with blood. The red splattered on his shirt and vest have a look into his personality and his tendencies more than the way he would speak, and his charming facade. 

“The boy is perfect, Jemma.” Richard insisted, turning his back to her and bringing his knife up once more, bringing it down with a large amount of force and a satisfying crunch of bone. The knife stuck out from the body like an extra appendage. With the knife no longer in his hand, he turned around to face his daughter once again. “I looked into his mind briefly, the boy is a genius. He’ll be able to do it without getting caught.” The man began to undo the chain on his vest, working it open, followed by each of the buttons holding the fitted best closed around his vest. Removing the vest, he held his arm extended, offering the blood soaked garment to his daughter, expecting her to take it just like she always did. She didn't. Instead, she stood where she was and spoke. 

“Aren't there more factors in who your successor would be than just intelligence?” The brunette asked, crossing her arms over her chest, knitting her eyebrows together while she inquired. 

“Why, do you not like this one? Finally ready to be involved in the family business? Unfortunately, you cannot be my successor, my dear.” His hands shook the vest slightly, urging Jemma to take it, and get to work cleaning up his mess. She still refused to reach out and grab it from him. 

“I don't want to be your successor, I want this all to stop.” Jemma insisted. “Aren't you growing tired of the same thing, of trying to find a successor for your murders, without luck?” 

Richard was astonished by his daughter’s words. Raising his eyebrow and taking an angry step towards his daughter, he grabbed her by the shoulder with his free hand, holding not too gently while she glanced into his daughter’s eyes, a threatening look in his own. He didn't usually get angry or stern with Jemma, but whenever she mentioned the end of his killings he would grow harsh, grabbing her shoulders, slapping, punching, whatever he could do to discipline the girl, despite the fact that she was technically one hundred and nineteen years old. “This is my livelihood, Jemma. You know that, and it makes this life bearable. I will not let you convince me to give up. That boy is my successor, I don't care how attracted you are to him. He won't want you, have you forgotten that you're dead?” He asked, his hand reaching and moving the collar of her dress to the side, finger pulling the fabric aside enough to expose the empty hole in her chest to remind her of the fact. “Now, take the vest, and get to work doing your job.” He forced her bloody vest into her hands. “And take care of the body too, I need to have a chat with our guest.” 

The man didn't wait for Jemma to reply before exiting the room. The brunette’s eyes glanced down, looking over the hole in her chest longingly for a moment before she pulled her attention away to look at something else. He suggested that she was attracted to Fitz. While she couldn't deny that he was a handsome man, she had only just met him, and it wasn't attraction per-say. It was the fleeting crush of a young girl who's attention settled on a boy. It wasn't anything more than that. Inhaling deeply she fixed the buttons and neckline of her dress once again, glancing at the body in front of her. 

It was a young girl, who looked about the same age Jemma was when she died, maybe a little older. Her short brown hair fanned out over her head, wide brown eyes open in fear from when she died. Jemma didn't understand why her father seemed to pick younger victims. Ones who had a future ahead of them, one that he robbed them of. It bothered Jemma to no end, she didn't want anyone else to be stuck in the hotel like she was, but she couldn't do anything about it. She had tried to in the past and it backfired, and because of her, the killing would go on forever. Jemma had been the one to call the police on her father. The killing had become too much for her, so desperate for it to end, she called the police, hoping that they would arrest him and put him to death somewhere outside the hotel. When her father killed himself, he ensured that the killings could continue to go on, which had been the opposite of Jemma’s intention. So this girl’s death, it was on her, just like every death that had happened since he died himself. 

“What the hell, why am I still here?” A voice said from the other side of the blank white room. Jemma picked up her head to look over and see an exact copy of the girl laying on the floor in front of her, cuts on her face and all. It was rather strange, and no matter how many times it happened, Jemma would never get used to it.

“This is all there is.” Jemma explained to the girl with a sigh, looking at her with a look of pity. She had been a ghost for so long, she had grown used to the way it felt, however was different after you died. She tried to help the new ghosts in the hotel adjust, it was the least she could do for them. Jemma had always wanted to help people. She had wanted to be a scientist, or a doctor. She wanted to do whatever she could to help people. Back when she was still alive, she wanted to develop a polio vaccine, she wanted to study the human genetic material, she wanted to win a Nobel Prize, to be a well renown woman. She never wanted what her mother and father wanted for her. Her chances to do what she wanted, they had been taken when she died. Someone else came up with a polio vaccine, Rosalind Franklin discovered the shape of DNA, everything she wanted to do was done by someone else, much to her dismay. She wasn't the only one with dreams. Everyone trapped in the hotel had dreams at one point, and they all had their dreams taken away from them. “I'm Jemma, by the way.”

“Daisy.” The girl said with a nod while she looked over her body. “Holy fuck, is that..me?” 

Jemma nodded the affirmative, setting the vest down onto the ground, reaching and grabbing Daisy’s body’s arms, dragging her across the room, to there there was a panel on the wall that opened up to the chute to the acid vat in the basement. 

“Woah. What are you doing with me?! Be careful.” Daisy insisted. 

“If we leave you here, your body will decompose.” Jemma explained. “Your bowls will empty, your insides will liquify, you skin will separate from your bones, and it will stink up the hotel. Daisy, do you really want that to happen? If you let me do this, you won't have to see your body lay here decomposing. It'll be easier for you if you just let me.” 

Daisy made a displeased face, wrinkling her nose at what Jemma had told her. That was certinaly wasn't something she wanted to see. “Okay, first: ew, and second: fine.” She huffed, watching intently while Jemma opened the chute and shoved Daisy’s body down it, watching it fall until it grew too dark to see it. She heard the splash of it hitting the vat in the basement, stepping back and closing the chute once again. 

“So, that dude’s your dad?” Daisy asked, raising an eyebrow. “And here I thought /I/ had family issues.” 

“He wasn't always like this. It's just..when my mother died he snapped. I've ready psychosis can take hold after a traumatic event. It's called a ‘stresser’.” Jemma explained, shaking her head. 

“How long have you two been stuck here?” Daisy asked, tipping her head at an angle briefly while she looked her over carefully. 

“Well...I've been here for 97 years, but I've only been dead for 89.” Jemma explained, glancing down at the blood stain on the floor. She inhaled deeply, shaking her head. It was going to take quite a bit of scrubbing to get it clean. 

“Oh..wow.” Daisy said watching the other brunette for a moment before she turned her attention to something else. “Do you need some help?” She asked after a moment. 

“Oh, thank you, but if it's all the same to you, I’d like to be alone to think for a bit, a bit of quiet can do well for the brain and thinking process.” Jemma explained, expecting Daisy to say more, but when she picked up her head the other girl was gone. That was something about new ghosts, they couldn’t tell the difference between a ‘Go Away’, and a simple ‘I don’t need your help right now’. If one told a ghost to go away, they didn’t have a choice, for some reason, they would always go away. Jemma never quite understood the reason, but it came in handy on the times when she had grown annoyed with the other ghosts inhabiting the hotel. She would tell them she wanted them to ‘Go Away’ whenever they had gotten on her nerves while she was trying to work. However, she hadn’t meant to tell Daisy to leave, and almost wished she had said she needed the help. However, the quiet room by herself gave her time to think, which she was thankful for. She needed to come up with a plan, and quick. Her father would work fast to insure he could influence Fitz as quickly as possible, so Jemma needed to be faster. The question was, ‘How was she going to do it’?


End file.
